


ghost pressure

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-12
Updated: 2010-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a night, years ago, when Eames watched the thin line of Arthur's back disappear as he buttoned up his shirt, watched the curve of his spine before it was clothed, chaste, when he watched, still in bed, as Arthur dressed, as Arthur enunciated carefully over "This isn't going to happen again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghost pressure

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Wolf Parade song of the same name.

There was a night, years ago, when Eames watched the thin line of Arthur's back disappear as he buttoned up his shirt, watched the curve of his spine before it was clothed, chaste, when he watched, still in bed, as Arthur dressed, as Arthur enunciated carefully over "This isn't going to happen again."

Eames hadn't believed him at the time. Hadn't believed him and hadn't cared, overmuch, because he was delicious but the work had clearly already been done.

Except he hasn't stopped working since.

*

"Please tell me you aren't here for me," Arthur says. "Again."

"I am always here for you, darling," Eames says. "I delight in your company."

"That makes one of us," Arthur says.

"Ah, dear, you shouldn't sell yourself short," Eames says.

*

There was another night, years ago, when Cobb and he went out, Mal waiting at home, Arthur in the same city but distant, and they got drunk and told stories. It was a good night, a peaceful one, but it was all thoroughly ruined when, sometime late in the night, Cobb asked "Are you in love with him?" and Eames responded, quick, with "I highly doubt it," but the answer was that he didn't know. The answer was that the question was terrifying.

*

"When was the last time you got laid?" Eames asks.

"Eames," Arthur says.

"I'm just wondering if you need to get the stick out of your arse or get one in there," Eames says.

"What did I do to deserve you?" Arthur asks.

"Why, something very good, I suppose," Eames says. "And then you came on my face to seal the deal."

"The sex wasn't even that good," Arthur mutters.

"Liar," Eames says, and watches in total fascination as the tips of Arthur's ears turn pink.

*

There's nothing mussed about him, not even in sleep, no sign he could be human other than shoddy memory. He's flat out on the lawn chair, not even in drugged sleep, just the sleep of the exhausted. A human sleep.

Arthur makes a noise when Eames perches beside him on the chair, then hums when Eames murmurs "Go back to sleep, darling," when he rubs a hand through the gelled mess of hair, makes him a little less perfect.

He goes to sleep, and Eames watches for a minute, for as long as he can get away with, then he smoothes Arthur's hair back into perfect place.

*

"What will it take to change your mind?" Eames asks one night, idle and punch-drunk with exhaustion. He doesn't expect Arthur to answer, expects him to play dumb or ignore it, but he doesn't.

"I don't mix work and—" Arthur stops.

"And what?" Eames asks.

"Don't turn it into more than it was," Arthur says.

"And what was that?" Eames asks.

"A mistake," Arthur says. "Which I am apparently still paying for."

Eames bites his tongue and lets Arthur leave it at that.

*

Eames has never been the loving type. It's dangerous, for one, and pointless, leads to all sorts of heartache. He isn't even sure he likes Arthur, but that doesn't mean he wants him any less. That's the worst part. That's the part that keeps him trying. All the parts are keeping him trying, and he's so tired of Arthur turning away.

*

"You don't want her," Eames says, after watching the slow cat and mouse, the nothing games Arthur plays to fill the stretch of days.

"Oh?" Arthur asks.

"You don't go after anything you want," Eames says.

"I'm working," Arthur says. "Go away."

Eames does after squeezing a hand around his arm in the darkened warehouse, holding on for as long as he can get before Arthur shoves him off.

*

Eames shows up in a red dress. A red dress and as a pretty brunette in one of Arthur's dreams, because he watched him in sleep and couldn't help himself.

"Buy you a drink, sugar?" he asks, puts a hand, red nails, on Arthur's.

"This isn't what I want," Arthur says.

"No?" Eames asks, runs a fingernail over the back of Arthur's hand, then slides back into himself. "So it's just me you want."

"Don't flatter yourself," Arthur says, but he doesn't pull his hand away.

"I would rather you do it for me," Eames says, and squeezes his hand, light, before letting go.

*

He'd been bright and blindingly gorgeous, lost every ounce of reserve Eames had seen in him, cracked into something new and special, something that hadn't seemed fit for his eyes. Something he hadn't deserved.

After, he'd stayed close for only long enough to catch his breath, and then he'd been moving away again. Eames is so tired of trying to catch him. He hadn't known that night was only a beginning. If he had, maybe he would have paid better attention. Maybe he would have held on.

*

"What is it you want me to do?" Eames asks, another night, a night that blurs into every night before it. He's tired, and Arthur's tired, and this stopped being fun years ago, has reverted into pain, too sharp, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop.

"Nothing," Arthur says. "Stop. Just. I want you to stop."

"No you don't," Eames says.

"You don't know me," Arthur says.

"I'll stop when you actually want me to," Eames says, though he isn't entirely sure that's true.

"I do," Arthur says. He doesn't look like he's convincing even himself.

"You know I love you," Eames says.

"Don't," Arthur says.

"What exactly are you afraid of?" Eames asks.

"You," Arthur says, and doesn't meet his eyes.

"That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard," Eames says, and when he curls his fingers around Arthur's shoulder Arthur lets him, but he turns his head away from the kiss.

"I'm not giving you up," Eames says, and presses his forehead against Arthur's temple.

"I wish you would," Arthur whispers.

*

Eames remembers the curl of Arthur's tongue over his ear, the way he'd laughed, broken and fractured and beautiful, when Eames' fingers had found a ticklish spot, the way he'd looked beneath him, eyes dark and wide and almost innocent. He remembers the mark he left on Arthur's jaw, a dark spot that he wouldn't be able to cover, and he figures Arthur always hated him a little for that.

*

"Okay," Arthur says in the airport, after, and he looks tired, so tired. "You win."

"This isn't a game, darling," Eames says, and curls a hand around Arthur's wrist. "Come home with me."

Arthur doesn't say anything, but he lets Eames tuck his fingers beneath his jacket, smooth over the small of his back, and lead the way back home.


End file.
